AN: New chapter! Enjoy x

Jamie stood in the middle of the living room, her hands trembling as she wiped down the coffee table. She'd already scrubbed the walls, wiped down the furniture, and picked up the glass that had been shattered during Derek's pack's chaotic attack on the house. It felt like an impossible task, cleaning up after the damage, after the sudden violence that had swept through her life. Every time she scrubbed a surface, it felt like the reminder of what had happened—of what Isaac had done to her—was there, lingering just beneath her skin.

Her mind kept drifting back to that night, to the heat of Isaac's rage. The way he'd grabbed her, his hand tight around her throat, cutting off her air. His eyes—wild, bloodshot—had been so far gone. For a moment, she had been sure he was going to kill her. It wasn't just his physical strength. It was the terrifying certainty that the person she thought she knew—the person she had cared about—was gone. She gasped for air in her memories, her hands shaking as she wiped the counter.

Calm down, she told herself, closing her eyes, trying to force the panic back. But it was no use. Her chest tightened, her breath coming too fast. It was like the suffocating feeling from Isaac's grip was still there, still alive inside her.

Focus, she thought. But she couldn't. She couldn't stop herself from thinking about Derek, about the conflicting emotions that had been building ever since.

Hadn't she started to feel like maybe she could trust him? Like maybe she wasn't just a pawn in some twisted game of his? She had seen a side of Derek that was almost protective. He had been cold, sure, but there had been moments when she had thought there was something deeper in him. Something beyond the hardened exterior.

But now, with the attack on Lydia, the sudden shift in Derek's behaviour, she wasn't so sure anymore. Was he dangerous? Was she fooling herself into believing there was a good side to him? She had felt the sharp edge of his rage before, had felt the intensity of his eyes, and now she wasn't sure if she was supposed to be afraid of him or trust him.

And then there was Scott.

She bit her lip, the unease curling in her stomach as she thought about him. She wanted to believe in him, to believe that his intentions were pure, that he wasn't like Derek, that he wasn't like the others. He had been the one who had tried to protect her from all of this—the supernatural, the wolves, the danger. But he hadn't told her the truth until she was already in too deep. And that hurt. That secret, the one he kept hidden from her, made her question if she could fully trust him. If she hadn't been dragged into it that night by Kate Argent, would she still be in the dark?

Maybe she had been like Lydia—ignorant, unaware of the monsters lurking in the dark corners of her life. Was that it? Was she just like Lydia, confused and blind to the truth until it was too late?

The weight of it all pressed down on her, suffocating. She was caught in the middle of it all—caught between Derek, Scott, the wolves, the lies, the danger. She didn't know who she could trust, or if trusting anyone was even possible anymore.

She couldn't take it. The thoughts swirling in her head, the panic that wouldn't stop. She needed something—anything—to calm herself down.

Her gaze shifted to the hallway, toward her room. Her heart skipped as she walked upstairs, each step heavier than the last. She didn't want to do this, but it felt like the only option. She had promised herself she wouldn't go back to it. But the pills—they could make it stop.

She found the bottle of oxycodone, the one she had thrown on the floor only a few nights ago in an angry outburst. She had picked them up carefully, one by one, and now they stared at her, the temptation so real it almost felt like a presence in the room. The lid clicked open, and she stared at the pills inside, the small, white tablets mocking her fragile willpower.

She thought about taking them. Just a few, just to take the edge off. To stop the fear, the anxiety. To stop the feeling that her entire life was spiralling out of control.

But then, in her mind, she heard Stiles's voice. That day he had driven her home from the hospital.

"I'm just saying, if you ever need someone to talk to or… I don't know, to hide those pills in the woods so you're not tempted, I'm here."

Her fingers hovered over the pills, but she clenched her fist. No. She couldn't. She wouldn't do it. Not after what he'd said. Not after everything she had promised herself.

With a heavy sigh, she made up her mind. She stood up, her legs shaky, and walked to the bathroom. There, she tipped the bottle of pills into the toilet, watching them tumble one by one into the water below. The swirling sound of the flush filled the room, and with it, Jamie felt the weight of the decision settle over her. The pills were gone.

She was doing the right thing. She had to believe that.

The morning fog still clung to the trees as Jamie made her way through the woods, the cold air biting at her skin. She'd gotten Stiles' text about meeting him here, but the last thing she wanted to do was deal with him right now. Still, she couldn't bring herself to ignore him.

When she spotted Stiles leaning against a tree, his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, he flashed her a quick, apologetic smile. "You're late."

Jamie just rolled her eyes. "I wasn't even going to come, but I figured you'd keep texting me until I did, so here I am."

Stiles chuckled, but his face quickly turned serious. "Thanks for showing up. I know you don't want to do this, but—"

"So, you and Scott kidnapped Jackson," she deadpanned, cutting him off.

Stiles nodded, as if it were the most casual thing in the world. "Yep."

Jamie blinked, not sure whether to be impressed or appalled. "And you want me to talk to him?"

"Exactly," Stiles replied, his voice filled with a strange mix of hope and guilt. "I know you two were close. I mean, I know it's... complicated now, but—"

"We were close," she corrected, her tone sharper than she intended. "Past tense, Stiles. Jackson made it pretty clear a while ago that he doesn't care about me anymore, so why should I care about him?"

Stiles sighed, stepping closer to her. "Look, I get that it's messy, okay? But this isn't about what Jackson did to you. This is about what's happening right now, and right now, we're just trying to keep him from killing anyone else."

Jamie's eyes narrowed. "And how exactly can I help with that?" Stiles sighed.

"Look, we know Jackson is the Kanima, but he'd in denial," Stiles explained. "He won't believe a word Scott or I say." Jamie huffed.

"And you think he'll believe me?"

"Yes," Stiles said, his voice earnest. "Please, Jamie. I'm asking you. I need your help with this."

She stared at him, her arms folded tightly over her chest. It was quiet for a long moment before she sighed, defeated. "Fine. I'll talk to him. But don't expect a miracle."

Stiles' face lit up with gratitude, but it quickly dimmed when he led her to the back of the woods. Hidden behind a thicket of trees, a large van was parked. The rusted doors were barely visible beneath layers of moss and dirt.

"You stole a prison transport van?" Jamie raised an eyebrow as she looked at him, unimpressed.

"Borrowed it," Stiles corrected with a grin.

Jamie pushed open the van's door, and her eyes immediately fell on Jackson. He was handcuffed, his hands shackled, sitting on a bench. He looked surprised to see her.

The air in the van felt too heavy, too tight. Jamie took a deep breath, trying to steady herself before facing Jackson.

"What are you doing here?" Jackson asked, the edge in his voice sharper than he probably intended.

Jamie glanced at him, then at the chains, the cuffs that kept him immobile. "Stiles thinks you'll listen to me," she replied, her voice cool. "I think he's an idiot."

Jackson's lips twitched, like he might've laughed if things weren't so messed up. "I'm not the Kanima, Jamie."

She didn't respond right away, instead letting the silence stretch out between them.

"Right," she said after a long pause, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She shook her head. "I wouldn't believe Stiles either if I hadn't see it with my own eyes."

Jackson shifted in his seat, the handcuffs clinking against the metal. "I don't know what you are trying to -."

"Shut up." Jamie cut him off, her patience running thin. She stepped closer to him, her eyes hard. "I know what I saw. I don't need you to keep denying it."

Jackson's gaze flickered to her face, something dark and frustrated flashing behind his eyes. "I'm not the Kanima. This is insane."

She shook her head. "This is pointless," she remarked, turning to leave. Jackson called her back, his voice pleading.

"Jamie, wait," he begun. He leaned forward. "You have to get me out of here." Jamie turned around, growing frustrated.

"Why should I?" she challenged. "Even if I didn't believe that you turn into a giant lizard who murders people, why the hell would I do anything to help you?"

Jackson's face darkened, his frustration palpable. "I didn't want any of this," he muttered, but it didn't feel like an apology. It just felt like an excuse.

"No?" Jamie snapped, her voice rising. "You didn't want the bite from Derek? You didn't go to him and ask for it?"

Jackson's face hardened, and he looked away. "That's not—"

"No?" She interrupted, her voice rising with frustration. "Then what is it, Jackson? Because you sure as hell didn't stick around to talk to me when all of this started. You just left. You just dropped me."

His jaw tightened at her words, but he didn't say anything, and Jamie was starting to feel like she was wasting her time. She wasn't even sure what she wanted from him anymore. She just knew that whatever it was, it wasn't going to happen. Not now. Not with the person he had turned into.

"You didn't care about me then," she muttered, her voice low and bitter. "You didn't care about anything except what you wanted."

His gaze snapped back to hers, his eyes cold and guarded. "I didn't want to hurt you, Jamie."

She scoffed, the sound bitter in her throat. "You didn't want to hurt me when you cut me off? You didn't want to hurt me when you told me I was holding you back. That I was dead weight." Her throat tightened as the words left her lips.

She felt the sting of it all again, the hurt that had been sitting at the back of her mind, festering ever since he had shut her out. It was like an old wound, one that had never healed, and now it was ripping open all over again.

Jackson's eyes flickered, just for a moment, to something softer, but he quickly shut it down. "I wasn't... I didn't want you to feel like—" His words faltered.

"Like what?" Jamie interrupted, voice growing louder now, her frustration spilling out. "Like I was nothing to you? You just woke up one day and decided I wasn't good enough anymore?"

The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Jackson's shoulders tensed, and Jamie knew he was holding back—something he never used to do, something she hated. It was like he was a stranger in front of her, and it made her sick.

Jackson opened his mouth to respond, but the words never came. There was nothing left to say.

Jamie turned on her heel, not bothering to look back. She wasn't sure when she'd stopped caring, but she knew that it was gone now. That was something she wouldn't get back.

Stiles stood by the van when she stepped outside, his face worried, but she didn't look at him either.

"I tried," she muttered, her voice cold as she walked past him.

"Jamie—"

"I don't care," she said sharply, cutting him off. "I don't care about any of this anymore."

She didn't give him a chance to argue. She didn't care to listen. The weight of the forest around her felt suffocating as she made her way back toward the road, her thoughts spinning, her chest tight with something she couldn't place.

All she knew was that Jackson was lost, and so was she.

Jamie stepped into the house, the door creaking softly behind her as she closed it. Her heart still raced from the conversation she'd just had with Jackson. Words lingered in her mind, twisting and pulling at her thoughts. The guilt, the doubt—it all sat heavy on her chest. She needed a moment to breathe, to process everything that had been said.

Her footsteps were slow, dragging along the hallway, each step echoing in the silence of the house. She didn't even register the sound of the door closing behind her as she walked past it. The weight of the day, of the emotions, felt suffocating. She just wanted to crawl into her room, close the door, and shut the world out for a while.

Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for the door to her room, pushing it open.

She flicked on the light, her nerves still raw, her heart still beating too fast. The room was empty, silent. But then, in the corner, she saw something that made her freeze.

Derek.

Standing in the shadowed corner of her room, his posture tense, his dark eyes watching her with a strange intensity.

Before she could react, her breath caught in her throat. The surprise, the fear—it hit her all at once, and her instinct screamed at her to get away, to run.

She screamed, the sound echoing in the stillness of her room.

Derek's gaze flicked to her as she stumbled back, her heart hammering in her chest. He didn't move. Didn't say anything at first. Just watched her with those calculating, unreadable eyes.

"Jamie," he said, his voice calm, almost too calm.

Jamie's heart raced, her breath shallow as she backed toward the door, eyes locked on Derek. The room felt suffocating, the walls closing in around her as her pulse hammered in her ears. Her body trembled, the fear rising in her throat like bile.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice shaky but still carrying an edge of anger. "How did you even get in?"

Derek didn't answer her question. Instead, he stepped forward slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, his face unreadable. He moved with that same controlled precision that always made Jamie's stomach twist—a predator that was both calm and dangerous.

"We need to talk," he said. "About Jackson."

Jamie pressed her eyes closed, willing the tension inside her to ease. She slowly exhaled, calming herself.

She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze.

"I don't want to talk about Jackson," she responded, hoping her tone left no room for discussion. Derek pressed his lips together.

"Jamie - ," Derek started. She cut him off defiantly.

"No," she snapped. "You know, I don't have to do what you say."

"Jamie," Derek repeated, his tone a mix of frustration and something softer, something almost like concern.

"No!" she snapped, sharper this time. "You know what? I think you should just go."

Silence settled between them, heavy and unyielding. Derek's jaw tightened, the muscles in his face flexing as he held her gaze. He didn't move, didn't even blink. Jamie could feel the pressure building, the weight of his presence suffocating the small space.

"Fine," she huffed, throwing her hands up in surrender. "I'll leave." The defiance in her voice masked the trembling in her hands, the fear still clawing at her insides.

She pushed past Derek, brushing against the solid wall of his chest as she stormed toward the door. His eyes followed her, a flicker of something crossing his face. His hand snapped out to grab her upper arm as she passed, pulling her back towards him.

"Let go of me," she protested, using all the force she could muster to yank her arm out of his grip. He released her just as she did, and in a blur of motion, she lost her balance.

Before she could hit the ground, strong arms shot out, pulling her against a solid chest. Her breath hitched in surprise as Derek's grip locked around her waist, steady and unyielding. She was caught, held there, suspended in his arms, her body pressed against his. His eyes was intoxicating, familiar and like a stranger's at the same time, and she couldn't look away from his gaze.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. She could feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of her clothes, his grip possessive but oddly tender. His eyes held hers with an intensity that seemed to burn through her, pulling her in.

Jamie swallowed, her chest rising and falling in quick succession as she tried to steady herself. Her mind was clouded, the anger still thick in her veins, but now, in this moment, it was mixed with something else—a deep, undeniable pull toward him.

Finally, she broke the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thanks."

The words hung in the air between them, thick with tension. Derek's expression was unreadable, but his grip on her tightened slightly, as if he were reluctant to let go, or perhaps reluctant to let the moment end. They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, her heart beating erratically in her chest, their eyes locked.

In that moment, she finally knew what she wanted. What she needed. And it was him.

Without thinking, she leaned in, brushing her lips softly against his. It was brief, just a fleeting moment, but it was enough. Enough to feel the heat of his lips, enough to test the waters, to see what would happen.

Derek's breath caught, and for a moment, he didn't pull away. He just stood there, holding her, letting her kiss him. His hands, still gripping her waist, tightened slightly, as if he were holding onto something fragile, something that could slip away. But as soon as she pulled back, the distance between them felt like a chasm.

He stared at her for a long time, his jaw clenched, eyes searching hers with a hunger that was almost too much to bear. His lips parted as if he were about to say something—demand something—but he didn't. He didn't speak, didn't protest. Instead, he stared at her, as if he were trying to understand her, to understand why she had done it.

Finally, he asked, his voice low and controlled, but tinged with something darker, something raw, like whatever his grand plan had been for her, it didn't account for this. "Why did you do that?"

Jamie felt the heat rise in her cheeks, but she held his gaze, her breath shaky as she tried to put her thoughts into words. "I don't know," she whispered. "I guess I just wanted to see what you'd do." Her voice trembled just enough for him to hear.

Derek didn't say anything for a long moment. His expression was dark, and the air between them was charged with something dangerous, something that felt like it could snap at any second. His eyes flickered to her lips, then back to her eyes. He took a deep breath, and in that instant, something broke—some unspoken boundary or rule that they both had been dancing around.

Without another word, Derek pulled her closer, his hand cradling her face as he kissed her fiercely, his lips claiming hers with a hunger she couldn't deny. It was urgent, powerful, and Jamie felt her body respond instantly, her hands threading through his hair as she deepened the kiss, her heart pounding in her chest.

When he finally pulled away, his breath ragged and uneven, he looked at her with a mixture of frustration and longing, as if he were fighting something within himself.

Jamie's lips were still tingling from the kiss, and she couldn't look away from him, even though everything inside her was screaming to pull away, to regain control. But she didn't.

Derek's voice was dark and low as he spoke again, almost as if to himself. "You don't know what you're asking for."

Jamie's heart raced. "I don't care," she replied through shaky breaths.

Derek's grip tightened around her waist as he pulled her back into him, his breath hot against her lips. The air between them crackled with an intensity neither of them could deny. Jamie felt his heartbeat, fast and erratic, pulsing through his chest into hers.

Her hands slid up to his neck, fingers threading into his hair, tugging him closer as if there were no distance left between them. Every rational thought she had left was drowned out by the feeling of his lips on hers, the heat, the urgency. It was a need—something raw and unfiltered that neither of them could ignore anymore.

Derek's hands slid down her sides, grazing the curve of her hips before pulling her even closer, the tension in his muscles unmistakable. His mouth moved against hers, deepening the kiss as if he couldn't get enough, as if there were a part of him that needed this—needed her. She could taste the frustration and the longing.

Jamie's breath caught as Derek's hands moved, pulling at the fabric of her shirt, inching it up her body. He hesitated for only a moment, as if searching her eyes for permission, and when she didn't pull away, when she leaned in to kiss him harder, he took it as a sign. His hands were steady, sure as they tugged her top over her head, leaving her breathless and exposed under his touch.

She gasped when his lips trailed down to her neck, his hot breath sending a shiver through her. His teeth grazed her skin, and she arched into him instinctively. There was a fire between them, something unspoken but palpable. She needed this—needed him. Everything else in the world could just disappear for a while.

Her hands slipped down his chest, feeling the muscles underneath his shirt, desperate for contact. She tugged at his shirt, pulling it over his head, her fingertips brushing the heated skin beneath. She needed to feel him, all of him, in a way that made sense in the chaos of the moment.

Derek paused, his hands on her shoulders, eyes dark as he looked down at her. "You sure?" he asked, his voice low and rough, the last thread of hesitation still clinging to him.

Jamie didn't answer with words. She kissed him instead, pulling him down toward her as if the question itself didn't matter.

Derek's hands moved again, more urgently this time, as he guided her backward, her body pressed against the door behind her. She felt the weight of him against her, all of him, and everything inside of her twisted with want. His lips met hers once more, hard and possessive, and Jamie let herself get lost in it.

Every part of her screamed for him, for this, and there was no room left for anything else. There was no past, no consequences—only the moment.

His lips trailed lower, moving from her mouth to the soft skin of her neck, and she gasped as his teeth brushed against her. His hands roamed lower, feeling the curve of her body as if memorising every inch. She was lost—completely consumed by the intensity between them. She felt his claws dig into her skin as he held her, but she didn't feel any pain, only the searing heat of his touch.

She wasn't sure how much time passed before Derek finally pulled back, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. His eyes locked with hers, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop.

The tension, the fire—they hadn't disappeared. They were still there, in every glance, every touch, every breath.

But now there was something else, a realisation that Jamie didn't want to face. It came suddenly, but she pushed it away, too engrossed in the moment to care. But it still lingered there in the back of her mind, and it wasn't going away.

Since her overdose, she'd thought of herself as in recovery. She'd been doing her sessions with Ms Morrell, and she'd tried her best not to touch any pills.

But maybe she wasn't really in recovery. Maybe she had just replaced the pills and alcohol with something else – something else that gave her the same intoxicating highs and plummeting lows that the drugs gave her.

The realisation came like a slap in the face.

It was him.

Derek Hale was her drug.

And she was addicted.